


Hoar

by Davechicken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words, and things between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoar

"You cannot miss what you have never known," Lucifer says, in one of their quiet moments. They haven't spoken in hours, so Castiel isn't sure what sparked the thought off in his elder brother's mind. He gave up trying to fathom the Archangel's twisted through processes properly long ago: they disagreed on fundamental things, and that was that.

(It wasn't 'that'. It was a lie he told himself to keep himself sane. In truth, every word from the other's lips was teased at with mental fingers long after they were uttered. Trying to _see_. Trying to _understand_. As if he could find the chink in the logic that would somehow solve everything, somehow unbreak Heaven and Lucifer himself. The magic words he could use to solve a riddle thousands of years old. The problem was, Lucifer's logic was complete in and of itself, and Castiel did not have the theological wherewithal to argue - and some days he even wasn't sure Lucifer was _wrong_ , even though he _must_ be... But he _was_ only a Seraph, and greater minds than his had tried. They had all failed, or admitted defeat. He was still here.)

"I assume, by that, you mean His presence?" Cas ventures.

Lucifer nods, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of the little room they sometimes call theirs, as if 'up' was really where He was. It was more complicated than that.

"I'm not sure I agree." Cas' head turns, and he stares over at Satan, who never once wavers in his attention. "I longed for it, even though I knew I would never feel it. I always wanted to hear His voice. To bathe in His presence. To hear why we sang..."

The laugh in response is mocking, but not altogether unkind. "You only _think_ you understand what it feels like, little one. But you don't. You can't. It's like describing colour to the blind, music to the deaf... it's senses you never had."

"You know, He stopped speaking to them all, after a while. He was gone... and they didn't even--"

"Sin? It's okay, Castiel, you can say it to me. Even if I disagree that what I did was sin, I know what it's called."

"Well. They did what He asked - as far as I can tell, because none of them Fell - and He cut them off too."

"Further proof that He is a monumental ass, don't you think? At least He let you all stay home and drink the booze."

Not that Lucifer would have been happy staying in Heaven. Once the argument was made, once he'd shown his hand and said his piece... nothing short of a regime change, an apology and an admission of fault and guilt would have swayed him, Cas thinks. And then where would existence be? It all hinged on God being perfect, infallible, omniscient, omnipotent, ineffable and loving. 

Some days it was hard to reconcile that with a God who had left them all, who had created temptation, who had made it so very... easy...

'Do you regret it?' Cas wants to ask. 'Would you do it all over again?' 'If He would welcome you back, would you come?' But he can't. He thinks of them, but even now he cannot ask the Archangel sprawled naked on the bed beside him. He is sure he knows the answers anyway.

Lucifer is resigned to his fate, though he rails about it and complains until his vessel's throat is raw from abuse. Shouting and yelling and neither one of them sure of their positions, but forever locked into them: the angel who Fell and the angel who simply... said 'no'. 

Cas is not sure what he believes, either.

It is probably why he is here.

His brother is still staring up at the ceiling, as if the slightly yellowed paint and imperfect swirls will somehow render unto him the secrets he has been waiting for, for thousands of years. There's a little line between his brows that shows he's troubled, and it's a line he only lets show when he's forgotten to keep his guard up. Castiel isn't sure why his brother allows him in here - or inside his head - but he knows it's a privilege not to be sent scattered to the four winds, or rent limb from limb. Lucifer allows this, permits this, and Castiel knows it is a boon.

He reaches out and places a warm hand on Satan's cold, flat stomach. The vessel jumps ever so slightly before Lucifer controls himself, and Cas waits for him to relax. When he's not pushed away, he slides his hand carefully up and down the vessel's torso. Lucifer is cold to the touch - very cold - and Cas often wonders if it's because he's been cut off from Heaven for so long. It's a hungry cold, a devouring feeling that saps the warmth and life from him. Cas has to focus very hard to keep his own body heated when they touch in any way... or Lucifer would consume him to nothing. He has to push a lot of himself into his skin to keep burning warm. No matter how hard he tries he never seems to thaw out the other angel, but he likes to think Lucifer appreciates the feeling of heat regardless.

They fall into another of those silences which neither of them find uncomfortable, the conversation just happening when they have something to say. Right now, there is nothing, and it's just Cas' hand and Lucifer's chest. When he's tired of that, Lucifer puts a hand on Cas' waist, wordlessly guiding him into place. He knows what's required, and he easily lifts a leg over and straddles him. This means both hands are free to coast over his torso, and he takes the opportunity to do that.

Lucifer's hands - in return - clasp his forearms and Cas' eyes unfocus for a moment as the sting of the touch goes down through his spine like a shock, like a bolt of ice lightning. The pause is momentary, and then their eyes meet and Lucifer _knows_ , and so does Cas.

He can always tell when Lucifer wants his wings out. There's this intense longing, this horrible moment of shame washing over his brother. It shouldn't be wrong, it shouldn't be dirty, and it shouldn't be shameful. They are angels, after all. Even fallen, Lucifer is an angel. Wings are who they are. Wings are a part of the thing they _truly_ are, an echo of their real self. Cas' wings are black, which is a fact he has never been able to run from. He lifts his head - eyes closed - and for a heartbeat the room and the body he is in - and the body he is _on_ \- are gone and he's pure energy... and then he lets Lucifer see the blue of Grace flare in his eyes as his wings unfurl above them.

The Archangel's vessel swallows - an involuntary response, an animal reaction - and there is that longing again. Cas knows the longing is not truly for _him_ , but for what he represents: Heaven... and _Him_. But this is the closest Lucifer can get, and if he can bring his brother even the slightest bit of peace or happiness, then he cannot and _will_ not deny it him. 

Lucifer's hands reach up without asking permission (though he never needed to, not once. Castiel would not bring his wings out if he did not trust him implicitly... even though on his worst days, Lucifer threatens to pluck every last feather from him, to break the bones, to render him flightless and weak... those days Cas simply cringes and weathers out the storm, knowing he could flee if he had to, knowing Lucifer is _trying_ to convince him to do it, and **refusing** to let him win). The cold is different on his feathers because they are not corporeal, not made of dust and ash like Adam's sons and Eve's daughters. Instead he feels the angel proper brush against them like sparking ozone, like the atmosphere electric. They comb and card and wind and tug, and Cas is lost to the sensation for the longest time. No one could play him like this, but one who _knew_. One who knew what it felt like, even if Lucifer never lets him return the favour. Castiel's fingers itch to bury themselves in Lucifer's glorious wings... but no amount of begging or pleading has ever swayed his brother's will. 

Cas wonders why. He can see them - can always see them - and they are intact, whole, and perfect. But Lucifer never spread them, never displays them, never allows them into this world... and Castiel mourns.

You cannot miss what you have never known...

Lucifer's hands get harder, and he's pulling at Cas' wings like he could pull the very angel out of the vessel with enough force. He probably could, if he wanted to. The Seraph is much weaker than the Archangel, and he could destroy him all over again. Cas knows this. He knows this every time he comes to see him. It does not stop him and he knows, too, that this infuriates and intrigues Lucifer in equal measure. Maybe one day he will no longer be interesting, no longer be a comfort, no longer be useful... or their intimacy will render him dangerous... but Cas hopes that day won't come. 

The wrenching makes him gasp, and he knows Lucifer's inner anger likes that because his smile is cruel on those lips. But Castiel feels no anger or regret. He knows he is here to be a balm and if Lucifer needs wormwood to soothe, then he will take the poison in and cleanse the death from every drop. Harder and harder the hands tug, until Cas can't control himself anymore and his _Grace_ surges through the vessel, the tiny shard of Heaven that is his blessing and his birthright flaring to the surface. He thinks it must sting Lucifer, because whenever it happens he looks so... pained... but it must be a drug he can't resist - it must be a good kind of pain - because he does it every time. 

A noise of joy escapes his vessel's throat, and Cas is caught in a moment of bliss; half-grounded by the cold of hips under his thighs, half-floating between the hands that pull him almost-out of his body. They stay there for a heartbeat and an eternity, and Cas feels compassion and love in his breast, feels pity and remorse and adoration for the creature below him. Lucifer needs it. Lucifer needs his love and his forgiveness, even if he is not - and never will be - God. He cannot give him back Heaven... other than the little bit he carries around wherever he goes.

Eventually, though, it has to fade and the tension on his wings eases slowly as Lucifer reels under the sensations... and Cas is dazed and confused. The sparking in his wings turns sporadic with gentle petting, and he sinks slowly back into his vessel, feeling fadingly euphoric, and like his heart is big enough to forgive any and every sin ever committed by man, beast or angel. He falls onto Lucifer's chest, his wings draping protectively around them, and he snuggles his head onto his brother's shoulder.

Cold. So very cold. Cas wishes he could warm that heart. Wishes he could somehow loan some of his own light and fire, until they both fell somewhere in the middle. 

"One day," he says, instead, "perhaps it will make sense. All of it."

Lucifer laughs.

Cas wishes he wouldn't, but he loves him all the same.


End file.
